


For the Damaged

by commodorecliche



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I just want them to be happy okay, Kissing, Literally just shiro and keith being reunited after the kerberos mission disappeared, Love, Lovers, M/M, Reunions, Sharing a Bed, canon-verse, reunited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7306993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorecliche/pseuds/commodorecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You've held your head up</i>
  <br/>
  <i>You've fought the fight</i>
  <br/>
  <i>You bear the scars</i>
  <br/>
  <i>You've done your time</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Listen to me</i>
  <br/>
  <i>You've been lonely, too long</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Damaged

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into Sheith fic had to be a sappy and angsty reunion fic, I mean, come on. 
> 
> I'd also like to give a big thank you to my wonderful beta and cheerleader [boysblush](https://boysblush.tumblr.com). Thank you, babe~ you rock.

 

When Keith broke into the Garrison quarantine, he didn’t do it for Shiro specifically. 

At least, that’s what he told himself. 

He told himself he did it because something didn’t feel right. But then again, very few things had felt right lately… Not since the Kerberos mission had gone south. And even a year spent alone with his thoughts, his feelings, his frantic desperation to know exactly what the hell had happened to Shiro and his crew, hadn’t yielded any answers or peace of mind. 

After Shiro went missing, Keith’s time in the Garrison was short. Unable to focus, unable to care about little more than finding answers about the Kerberos mission and its subsequent disappearance, he found himself with little more than a dishonorable wash-out from the program. His superiors had called it ‘obsession’, and labeled him insubordinate and problematic for his vehement protestations against every scripted platitude and explanation they had fed him. 

When he finally ditched out, he wasn’t sure if he should feel better or worse. 

He felt neither. 

Mostly, he felt lost. Staring up at the stars in the days, no, weeks spent on his own, there were moments when he had all but accepted Shiro’s death as an inevitability. 

Then the energy anomalies began. 

Keith poured every ounce of himself into researching them, if only as a means of distracting himself or finding purpose. Months worth of study and examination of the massive energy outcroppings happening in the area, even his discovery of the runes depicting the mysterious Blue Lion, had told him very little. At best, it instilled in him a feeling that something was coming, even if he didn’t know what.  But when the alien ship came blazing into the atmosphere - colliding to Earth’s surface in a rush of dirt, noise, and debris - he knew instantly who was in it. 

_ Shiro _ . 

Maybe that’s why he had felt more than prepared to break into a military quarantine with guns blazing (so to speak). When the door had opened, he hardly even got a glimpse of Shiro’s figure before he threw himself at every Garrison guard and doctor, unthinking and desperate to simply get his companion out of there. And as much as he hates to admit, the three cadets from the Garrison, even the  _ extremely  _ obnoxious cargo pilot, were at least a little helpful in ensuring their escape. Keith could have done it without them, of course, and it probably would’ve been a hell of a lot cleaner of an escape, but they still helped, and for that he was grateful. 

He couldn’t really complain too much when Shiro’s breathing, warm, and living form was what he had to show for it. 

**::**

Keith does his best not to stare. 

Shiro’s exhausted - still groggy from the drugs they’d given him in quarantine, undoubtedly weary from his journey, and worn down from…  _ whatever _ the hell he went through up in space. The sleep he’s getting is more than warranted, more than earned, and Keith doesn’t dare disturb him. 

But he stares anyway, even though he tries not to. 

The others - whose names he finally learned were Lance, Pidge, and Hunk - are relaxing as well, talking amongst themselves in the common area of the shack. From the bedroom, Keith can just barely hear them, their words muffled and unclear, but it’s quiet enough that Shiro doesn’t stir. 

Keith had sprawled the other man across the bed when they had gotten to the shack, urging the others out, and taking a spot on the floor at his bedside. It’s been hours since then, and Keith should probably rest as well, but he’s too uneasy, too afraid to leave Shiro’s side for fear he might be gone when he comes back. And he shouldn’t stare, but he does it anyway. 

Shiro’s changed. Not just his hair - now stripped of its color for reasons that Keith isn’t sure he wants to know - or the fresh, pink scar that intersects his face, or the metal that has replaced what once was an arm of flesh and blood, but the little things as well. Small things that perhaps a stranger wouldn’t notice.  

His body is more rugged now, his clothes tattered, flesh bruised and scarred. Shiro had always been a powerful, muscular figure, and he still is, but it's  _ different _ now. His face is thinner now and more jagged in a way that tells Keith he's seen deprivation. His muscles are more stark now, defined and harsh in a way that tells Keith he’s seen fights and battles, and it pains Keith just to see it. His features are tighter - more tense, more worried. Shiro’s brow is wrinkled in concern, even in his sleep, and Keith feels something clench up in his chest. He wants to sooth the lines, to calm them, but he isn’t sure he even could.

Shiro twitches and groans once more, his head lolling across the pillow in quiet distress. Keith doesn’t even think before shifting up onto his knees and reaching out for Shiro, his fingers tenderly pushing the white hair from his companion’s forehead. In the darkness, his fingertips drag along the worried lines of Shiro’s brow; and he wishes he weren’t so disappointed that his touch does nothing to ease the torment there. He breathes a heavy sigh, and lowers back down to the floor, leaning his body back against the nightstand for support. 

**::**

The night ticks on, the murmuring from Lance, Pidge, and Hunk in the common room dies down, and eventually, all Keith has is the steady sound of Shiro’s breathing. It’s good enough for him. He slumps a little more heavily against the nightstand that’s supporting him, suddenly feeling very weary. He doesn’t want to sleep; he’s spent so long apart from Shiro, half-accepting of his death, that all he wants is to stay awake and watch him sleep, to remind himself that Shiro’s alive. But he’s tired. His emotions have overwhelmed and worn him down, and his body is exhausted from today’s exertions. His eyes slip closed, Shiro’s figure the last thing he sees, and Shiro’s breathing the last thing he hears before slipping into sleep. 

Keith only wakes again at the sound of the bedsprings creaking. He pries his eyes open - though tired and blurry - and sees Shiro in the darkness, shifting slowly onto his side, curling up more comfortably on the mattress. Keith smiles to himself and leans his head against the nightstand, a sense of calm settling over him at the sight of Shiro relaxed and seemingly at peace.  

His tired eyes scan the room; it’s still dark, just the faintest hints of moonlight filtering in through the window. He must not have slept very long: his heavy eyelids are evidence enough of that. He doesn’t bother to fight it, this time though. He pulls his legs in closer to his body, before letting his eyes slip shut once again. 

**::**

When Shiro first opens his eyes, the first thing he registers is that it’s dark. 

Not completely dark, not the kind of dark you find walled off in a prisoner’s cell, but rather the kind of gentle dark that happens just before the sun would peek up over the horizon. He furrows his brow and pushes up onto his elbow. The mattress creaks, a low and pained sound, beneath him, as if to remind him of the heavy, sluggish feeling in his body.  

The second thing he notices is that just at his bedside, curled up on the floor against the nightstand, is Keith. 

For a moment, Shiro can only stare at him, before shifting his glance to other parts of the room. He knows this place…. Knows this room. He takes it in, remembering the countless nights spent here with Keith before he’d left for Kerberos, before shifting his gaze back to the man curled up at the bedside. There’s an instant when all he can think is that this is some sort of ruse, some trick, something cruel and inhumane thought up by his captors to steal whatever shreds of hope and love might be left in him.

For an instant, he’s almost  _ certain  _ that this isn’t real. 

But it looks real. God, does it  _ feel _ real. It sounds real, the gentle sound of Keith’s breathing, the hum of the cicadas outside. Still propped up on his side, Shiro watches Keith for a moment, looking for any sign that might tell him this is something to distrust, but there’s nothing. He simply sleeps, and doesn’t stir. 

Hesitancy grips his movements, but he lifts his right arm and reaches out slowly for the man curled up at his bedside. The touch of Keith’s hair is the only sign he needs. His arm might not be his anymore, but its tactile perceptions are almost perfect, and Shiro could never mistake the texture of that hair. At the feel of it, a shuddered breath slips past his lips, relief and comfort suddenly pooling in the pit of his stomach. He shifts in the bed, scooting himself a little bit closer to the edge, as his hand slides slowly from Keith’s hair to the gentle camber of his jaw.

But the peace of this moment, the reverie of it, is broken as soon as Shiro touches him. Keith startles awake, his body jolting at the touch of the metal against his face. He recoils, unthinking and reactionary, his eyes staring wide at Shiro. It's only a moment before Keith's face has calmed, his heartbeat settling at the realization that it's only Shiro with him. But he says nothing. The silence reigns between them for a beat, only broken as Shiro releases an uneasy breath.

“It’s you…” Shiro whispers. The pain and relief that haunts his voice is palpable.  

Shiro reaches his arm back out to Keith's face, his fingers once again aching to touch. It’s only the sight of his own arm - his inhuman arm, his arm of grotesque wire and metal - that makes him stop short. He pauses for just a moment, before decisively pulling it back, not daring to let it touch Keith again. Keith doesn’t miss the mixture of shame and dejection that line Shiro’s features, and he feels an overwhelming sense of guilt and sadness, followed quickly by a desire to try to right whatever wrongs had come to Shiro in the time he’d been gone. 

Without thinking, Keith shifts up to his knees at the bedside and lets his hand rest on the metal of the prosthetic. It’s warm, heated slightly from the warmth of Shiro’s body, and it takes Keith a little by surprise. The gesture alone isn’t much, he supposes, but he hopes it’s enough to tell Shiro that it’s okay… That everything is okay. His arm, his body, their moments together, it’s all okay. 

Tomorrow might not be okay, or the day after that, even. Keith knows that there’s a lot that has to be dealt with, a lot of questions that need answering, and a lot of wounds to heal. But for now, in the gentle repose of this bedroom, everything is okay.

He glides his hand along the metal prosthetic, sliding up to Shiro’s shoulder where the hardened alloy meets his flesh. He traces along the curve where Shiro’s shoulder meets his neck, his finger finally touching the skin there. It’s warm still - warmer than the metal arm - heated from sleep and the flush that creeps across his skin. Keith palms him there and nods his head. 

“It’s me…”

Keith tries not to think as his fingers curl at the nape of Shiro’s neck, tugging him forward with closed eyes to press their foreheads together. Shiro accepts the gesture without question, though, and relief floods over Keith. At least some things haven’t changed. 

“It’s me,” Keith says again. 

He hears Shiro exhale shakily and nod ever so gently against Keith’s forehead. And it’s probably just his imagination, aching to feel things that probably aren’t there, but he swears he can feel Shiro’s muscles relaxing beneath his touch. Keith wants to open his eyes, but he worries that the eye contact might be too much for him, too much after not seeing those eyes for a year. Instead, he shifts his head a little, but doesn’t break the contact. 

“Shiro,” he hums. 

He doesn’t expect an answer, but when his own name trickles off Shiro’s lips, the gentle flow of ‘ _ Keith’ _ from his mouth,  he feels his poorly disguised composure crumbling a bit. His fingers curl once more, nails scraping gently at the skin of Shiro’s nape before tracing along the soft hair there, before he cranes his head forward to claim Shiro’s mouth. 

Shiro’s lips are chapped, dry from dehydration is all that Keith can assume, but they’re still just as welcoming as he remembered, and something tightens in his chest like a vice. The physical memories had been suppressed by his grief and his loss after Shiro’s disappearance, and he’d almost forgotten exactly how much he’d missed all these small, insignificant things about Shiro. But when Shiro returns his kiss with the same feeling of saddened desperation, everything comes flooding back.  _ Oh god _ , how he had missed this, how he had ached for his scent, his touch, and the way he hums when mouth meets mouth. 

Keith feels Shiro’s right hand - firmer, much more rigid than it used to be, made of ore and alloy now - touch his bicep, but the touch of it it doesn’t unsettle him. It’s still Shiro, and that’s all that matters. Shiro’s fingers grip the muscle of his arm, in part just to feel him, but in part to urge him forward. Shiro tugs on Keith’s arm gently before scooting himself back a bit on the bed to create more space, never breaking the contact of their lips. 

Keith understands. He pulls their lips apart if only so he can lift himself to the bed. He crawls in and settles himself atop the covers to lie beside Shiro. His hand, only removed for the sake of leverage, returns to its place at Shiro’s nape. Shiro’s hand, however, had never left his bicep. Whether for support, or guidance, or simply the reminder that Keith was there, Keith wasn’t sure, but he doesn’t question it. 

Lying on their sides, face to face, Keith is met with the question of whether he should speak or simply let himself revel in the feeling of being close to Shiro once more. He opts for the latter, unable to find any words that would convey all the things he wanted to say, anyway. 

Shiro leans forward, and Keith thinks that they’re about to kiss again, but instead Shiro merely moves to rest his head atop Keith's, pressing their cheeks together. Beneath Keith is the softness of the pillow and above him, against his other cheek is the heat of Shiro’s skin. This is the same pillow he had spent so many nights on alone, lying awake and wondering if Shiro would ever retur, or if it was time to just let Shiro go. Oh, how things can change. 

He knows he couldn’t have let him go, anyway. 

Keith sighs low and soft, pulling his face out from underneath the comfort of Shiro’s, pushing his lips back up to meet his partner’s with firmness. It’s a kiss of _it’s been too long_ , _I didn’t think I would see you again,_ _god did I miss you,_ and _welcome home, I love you,_ and he just hopes Shiro can feel those words so he doesn’t have to stop to say them. 

He’s sure Shiro does. 

Keith dares to crack his eyes open as his and Shiro’s mouths purse and press against each other, tongues soft and tentative like new lovers, familiar like old lovers, and he sees the furrow in Shiro’s brow. But it isn’t one of worry or fear - it’s focus, and Keith can damn well spot the difference. He’s never been so thankful to see a crease in Shiro’s forehead than at this exact moment. His eyes shut once more, allowing himself to open up to Shiro, to welcome him in, to welcome him home, to silently tell him all the things he never got to tell him before he disappeared. 

When their kiss breaks, Keith stays in Shiro’s space. Mouths close enough to touch, air slipping between their lips, eyes unopened and reveling in touch, Keith doesn’t want to move. Ultimately, it’s Shiro who changes their position. Keith had half-expected Shiro to pull away after their kiss, to keep his distance, to maintain the space that’s existed between them for the last year, but he doesn’t. Instead, he tucks his head beneath Keith’s chin, resting it tentatively atop Keith’s chest and curling into him in search of… support, comfort, Keith isn’t sure what. 

But whatever it is, Keith wants to give it to him. 

His arms wrap around Shiro’s form, chin resting atop Shiro’s head, inhaling the scent of the hair he had missed so direly over the last 11-12 months. 

They lie there in silence for god knows how long - the two of them both lose track - but eventually, Keith is met with the even sounds of Shiro’s sleeping breaths, and he lets himself relax. There is quiet that envelops them in the peace of this bedroom, the stillness of this moment, and it doesn’t take long before Keith, too, loses himself to sleep.

**::**

Keith wakes with the first light of day. The light is tan and obscured from the dust outside, but he knows the sunrise here like no other. But when he wakes, he finds the spot beside him in bed is empty. 

For a second, he debates whether or not Shiro had even been there at all, or if perhaps, in the midst of his desperate grief, he had simply imagined everything. From the rescue to the tender reunion of their lips, he debates for an instant if any of it even happened. 

It’s only the wrinkled indent in the bed beside him that tells him that everything had happened as he remembered. 

Keith pushes himself up in bed; he stretches slowly and glances around the bedroom, but finds nothing except a tattered, purple and faded shirt discarded on the floor. He bites his lip and swings his legs over the side of the bed. 

He exits the bedroom with care - his three accomplices still fast asleep in the common room - and sneaks by as gently as he can. He slips out the door undetected and closes it behind him without so much as a creak. 

Once outside, Keith sees Shiro standing in the distance, watching as the sun begins to rise across the Earth’s horizon. He has to wonder exactly how long it’s been since Shiro's seen an Earth sunrise. He licks his lips, finding the resolve within himself to make his way across the dirt to Shiro.

As he closes in, Keith lets his hand grip the hardened, yet supple flesh of Shiro’s shoulder, and to his surprise, Shiro doesn’t move or startle at his touch. He grips him gently, massaging into the muscle with as much comfort and reassurance as he can muster, and steps to stand beside Shiro, watching as the sun creeps up across the horizon. 

Shiro says nothing, and Keith isn’t sure what to say either, if he’s honest. 

He opts for a simple,  _“It’s good to have you back,”_ and hopes that it’s enough. 

**::**

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's been like, four days and I'm already so far gone for Sheith, I just... Ugh. 
> 
> Anyway, I appreciate any comments y'all have. Thanks so much for reading.
> 
> You can find me at [my tumblr](https://commodorecliche.tumblr.com). I'm always excited to have more voltron/sheith friends.


End file.
